


Min.S.1

by SkuldVirva



Category: Eztta'lyith
Genre: Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkuldVirva/pseuds/SkuldVirva
Summary: This work is only written as a trial for short stories. It does not represent my attitude towards Eztta'lyith.Forgive me for my poor grammar...





	Min.S.1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is only written as a trial for short stories. It does not represent my attitude towards Eztta'lyith.  
> Forgive me for my poor grammar...

### Intro

"Bring my sword to me if you have foods and herbs ready. A great fight will be inevitable, so, Zenon, you should be prepared too, better take something like a falchion or a shortbow."  
"Yes, my lord."  
In the chapel of Salaovi, the residence of Bardeusz Gorecki, the priest and his servant were forming a two-man expedition team.  
"Mr. Gorecki, are you sure to head for Herlan - the place of the curse? Even though it lies by our kingdom, at the north of Salaovi, it will never be a safe adventure. Once the king had ordered an elite squad in his bodyguards to destroy the demon inhabiting northern Herlan, but **she** foiled the entire plan, and the entire squad has gone lost. Now you're talking about going there on your own, it's more than probable for you to encounter great troubles."  
"Thank you for the reminder, kind deacon. Destroying that demon is not only my will, but the will of the King. My bravery, loyalty, and piety on the battlefields are not outmeasured by those fellows. Despite being a bit elder, swinging that sword and casting spells is still easy for me. I am never a man too reckless to fall into the beasts' bloody mouths."  
Zenon carried the shortbow, with packed items, over his shoulder, handed the longsword to Bardeusz, and strapped the pocketknife and the pouch to his waist. Bardeusz carried his sword and his own bag, with a lamp tied around his waist and his staff in his hand.  
Across pews, the deacon blessed the priest and bid him farewell.

* * *

### Part I

Bardeusz hired a boatman and made his way through the high walls where the soldiers were stationed. He headed north along river Tirydill, managing to make his way through the wilderly forest around the border. The plan is, to some extent, successful, in the first two days while upstreaming against the current, the priest observed the beastweres in the riverside forest gathering in groupson the shore, shocked by the aura of exorcism, with their faces grimacing towards the boat in the great river.  
On the next evening, an uncharted waterfall blocked his way. Bardeusz had to abort upstreaming and continue his expedition by land. He gave the boatman an oval talisman from his traveling bag and prayed for him to return in peace.  
This isn't a high waterfall with the hightest drop of the height of young trees. At dusk, the grey rocks were painted with a brilliant red, and the waterfall like crystals growing on a newborn rock. Sharp stones on the riverbank had yet been washed into pebbles. With no climber taking over this treasured drop, there happened to be a silver lining between the green and the grey.  
"My lord, I guess we should call it a day. It's too late to continue the journey in forests." "Indeed. Let's camp out here." Bardeusz placed the lantern on the rocks, lit it up, and asked Zenon to unload his bag. "Get something to eat first. You should come to watch the first half of the night. I'm afraid we have to take a detour tomorrow."  
Zenon cut off two pieces of bread after fetching some water from the river. Bardeusz sprinkled a handful of powdered fennel seeds into it, and distributed the water. They chanted a song of warriors' march until the night wiped out the last bit of daylight.  
Bardeusz Gorecki had trust in this magical lamp: in the troops it had replaced bonfires, expelled beasts that tried to approach, and effectively evaded enemy recons. Even if the lamp drove out the freezingness of autumn, never could the warmth of the light warm the coldness in his heart.  
There is no map of the kingdom with this waterfall charted, which is obviously decades old. The entire kingdom was ignorant of the outer world, even someplace as close as Herlan. Perhaps the bards from _the Highlands_ knew it quite a bit, but they were driven out of the kingdom so long ago.  
The once brave priest, for the first time, was teffified by his own ignorance.

"My lord, there is something in the forest - something I don't recognize - something... like a human."  
Bardeusz awoke with Zenon picking him up. His servant pointed to a nearby forest, where there was a vague figure: it's rather short, with wings at its back, wandering without destination.  
"My God... could that be a fairy?"  
"Fairy?"  
"No, that couldn't be true. I've never heard of any fairies around Asterla Kingdom. They could only be found in **Otherworlds**. What time is it now?"  
"It's two in the morning, my lord."  
"It's time for you to rest. We'll have to go at dawn."  
With thick clouds blocking the starlight, only darkness remained in the forest. The "fairy" spotted the light from the lamp and vanished from Bardeusz's sight in a blink. Throughout the long nights, he kept praying, asking his God for strength to proceed.  
Yet it was not clear who is the God he's been praying. Is it Persesulas(God of light), the King, or something merely in the imagination of the Asterla people. In any case, the priests of Asterla enjoy the favor of their "God".

* * *

### Part II

In the cloudy late autumn, it's not until seven when Zenon awoke in daylight. Bardeusz was whispering a prayer and the lamp was withdrawn to his side.  
After simple preparation, the priest and his servant made their way along the rocks toward the depth of the forest. Soon, they find some "steps" of fallen stones. Bardeusz managed to cast an aura of inspiration and empowerment, lending hiself and the young sergant enough strength to climb.  
Despite the slippy moss and the sharp rocks (which bloodied the hands of both), after Zenong climbed to the top, the priest casted two spells to accelerate the healing of their wounds.  
It's still too early for them to surprise.  
To speed up the journey, Bardeusz decided to return to the falls and continued along his original route. At noon, two silent architecture come to his sight: a spire and a dome. The buildings, with only a few bricks fallen, stay perfecty intact, remaining the same as it was hundreds of years ago.  
"This must be that academy."  
"The academy?"  
"The Herlan Academy of Magic and Magitek, the once famous academy in this land - before Herlan was affected by that demon. Decades before they had it relocated, one part to Alaan, the capital of our kingdom, and the other part ..."  
"My lord?"  
"I kow where it is, but it's painful for me to mention that place ... the paradise of heresy ... " Bardeusz stopped at somewhere under the buildings.  
"I'm sorry, my lord."  
Zenon also stopped and drew his falchion before he saw a fluffy **beastwere** not far away by an abandoned trestle bridge. The beastwere, when seeing the approaching duo, merely changed the bait for his fishing rod made of twigs. There's a short-handled battleaxe lying on the ground beside him.  
Bardeusz casted a defensive spell, asked Zenon to stay beside him, then stepped forward.  
"Hey, you're from the kingdom, right? What are you doing in Herlan?" The eyes of the beastwere locked on the end of his fishing rod. "Your target must be **the Gloom**."  
"The Gloom? Are you talking about that demon?"  
"You call her a demon... with due respect, I can't link her with 'demons' in my mind from any aspect." The beastwere tugged at the rod, shook his head, replaced the bait, and continued his attempt.  
The priest took several steps ahead, with the overcast growing darker.  
"That 'Gloom', where she is?"  
"Weapons down! I assume that you have no intention fo using force against a poor fisherman. Neither have I been to _her realm_ , nor do I know the exact location of its 'gate'. These questions, if you want to ask, go for her maids. Go upstream along the river, you won't miss them."  
Bardeusz asked Zenon to withdraw his falchion, while nervously holding the staff himself until it was getting dark. At dusk, the sky went dark, and the fairy-like figures re-appeared in the forest.  
"Take it easy, Gorecki. There are no fairies there."  
The fairies were not the thing that frustrated Bardeusz the most. Early at night, a sudden rain fell in complete darkness, drenching the priest and his servent. They had towander with weariness, wandering between the banks of the river and the woods, trying to find a shelter.  
Later, Bardeusz casted a protected shield, ignoring the drain on his magic and spiritual power, until the dark clouds faded and the rain became thinner. Then he withdrew the shield spell, intending to have a real rest.  
The mist slipped quietly from the mountains into central Herlan, haunting the entire area - until midday, when Bardeusz decided to move on, it just grew thicker, thick enough for a figure fifty yards away to be invisible. The condensed dew hung from his scabbard and his staff. It became harder for him to catch his breath.  
He tried not to pay attention to the fairies on the other riverbank.

* * *

### Part III

The days following were but worsening.  
Except the sunshine in the first day, there is nothing but rain and mist. Meanwhile, the duo encountered a weir lake created by a tributary of the Tirydill, a beast in the dark night, a group of bandits in the forest, and so on. From the fourth day onwards, the fog grew thicker and thicker, with a spiritual pressure in the air.  
On the sixth day, a lake appeared out of the mists, lying ahead of Bardeusz. As a priest, his instinct hinted him that some abnormal magic power hovered on the north shore of the lake. A thin layer of ice, in faint blue, covers the waters. Zenon found his hand on the hilt of the falchion. His legs trembled. Bardeusz looked across the river to the ruins of a village where the trestle breidge was rotten, broken, not to mention there's no boats available.  
"That demon, it must be on the other side." Bardeusz was on his back with his long staff. "It looks like we'll need a new boat. Or we could try to walk around the lake, gosh, that seems impossible..."  
"That IS impossible."  
A childlike voice rang out at his side. The priest turned his head, seeing a few winged little beings nearby, making him almost petrified.  
**These are fairies.**

_"Mortal from the middle kingdom,_  
_Never saw fairies before?_  
_Tonnes of fancy wisdom,_  
_live beyond your high walls!"_

Bardeusz responded, "I am a messenger of the King, believer of the Light. I am devoted by His Majesty to purge the kingdom of the demons around, in order to preserve the holiness of our earth."

_"You have a big mouth | and a narrow heart,_  
_with the hard rock in your mind._  
_You claim to be envoy | of the divinity of light,_  
_Show something to prove you’re right!"_

The golden-hair fairy pointed at Bardesz, laughing playfully, with the red-haired fairies echoing from her side.  
Bardeusz had to hold his staff, recited a few prayers. First he propped up a shield, then he casted a toxin-purifying spell on Zenon, and finally he tried to dispel the mist around, but that yields no effect. The fairies started laughing.  
"O my God, hear my prayer, lend me some power to dispel the fog of darkness that envelops all around!"  
The lingering mist only grew heavier, with the lasting laughter of the fairies. He must believe - he didn't want to believe - that the fog had overcome him.

_"Look at your ignorance | mixing blessings with sorceries._  
_The mist around the waters | is the key one day she gave us_  
_to open the gate of that realm,_  
_the realm of curse and myths…"_

The red haired fairy halted her.

_"Lumina! you claimed to be ice-clever,_  
_but you kept messing forever!_  
_You obstructecd the Vampire and the Reinkarna,_  
_While spilling every secret of the **Enccita**._  
_And you, lackey of the kingdom,_  
_go back to where you belong,_  
_as the one her maids don’t admire._

The young Zenon was so frightened by the screams of the fairies and the spiritual pressure that he trembled and clutched at Bardeusz's arm before he managed to stay upright.  
The situation of the priest is nothing better: even if Bardeusz was able to stand in the darkening mist, the failure of his words - having been successful for decades - led to the crumble of his inner self.  
"Gorecki," he told himself, "calm down, you are not here to tangle with fairies. They provided some critical intel, but now the point is getting rid of them and crossing the lake."  
So the priest reluctantly corrected his posture and repled.  
"I, Bardeusz Gorecki, apologize for the recklessness of my words. I shed the comforts of my life in the kingdom and came to this valley when hearing that a mysterious witch dwelt here..."

_"Stop that nonsense! Your boring_  
_Words, trying to make any sense?_  
_Not until you remove your bindings!_  
_Return to you beloved place,_  
_Your kingdom, your accustomed homeland_  
_At the wish of her maids."_

The priest felt the creeping depression in the air. The sun had set, and darkness grew on the ground, which is never a good sign. His perseverance was strong, but he is running out of phisical power to continue with his journey.  
Without choice, Bardeusz had to make a faigned farewell and retreat four leagues downstream with his servant - at least getting away from the unbearable mists - to rest and regain strength. Zenon, like someone happened to escape the beast's mouth, experssed his gratitude for being alive without shyness.

* * *

### Part IV

Early in the next morning, the fog scattered, with only a thin layer of mist hanging around the mountains, which dissipated without a trace in the rising sun. Only the dew inside the priest's robe remembers the thick fog yesterday.  
When he came to the lake for the second time, the mirror of water and the reflection of sky greeted the priest. The fairies were not in sight. A simple wooden boat lied by the lake, with an oar inside - it looked exacely like the kind of mischief that fairies prefer.  
Bardeusz, after using all sorts of tactics, and found nothing (magically) unusual. He exorcised at least three times before asking Zenon to push the boat overboard.  
Although it was a plain boat which showed every sign of a novice carpenter's rush work, it did not leak at all.  
"Damn Fairies... according to them, it seems impossible to reach the demon without crossing the lake. Zenon, what follows is the real tough journey. Take this packet with you. God bless you."  
"Thank you, my lord. I'll always be by your side."  
"Just do the everyday work. Dealing with demons isn't as easy as dealing with beasts - but don't get scared. Trust me, OK?"  
"Thanks, my lord."  
After pushing the boat into the water, Zenon stepped into the boat first, then tooked the oars. Bardeusz stepped into the boat later, with the shipboard merely 12 inches above the surface. The servant was at the pack, paddling, and the little boat went forward slowly.

Minutes later, the depression on the calm lake reached Bardeusz first. A quarter later, a white mist rose from beneath the surface, after another quarter, the shore was out of sight. Bardeusz felt the wariness of Zenon from the hull, so he took the oars and kept moving the boat forward.

_"Head straight north, ignorant imperial,_  
_Compared with the SWORDSMAIDEN you’re tinier than ash,_  
_Your existence will meet but her denial."_

"The swordsmaiden?"  
No response. The paddle crossed the water, splashing a faint sound. The boat crossed the water, with light waves made the silence nowhere to hide.  
There were no figures of faires around - perhaps they were hiding in the woods - or above waters in the distance - even underwater, only skylight - and the admiring sunlight was getting farther and farther away from the water.  
The mist, the dark mist, for every reason - at this moment - is compared to the exquisite cage that strips the visible world from Bardeusz's eyes little by little: the mountains, the woods, the kingdom of Asterla, are not important at this moment. The servant Zenon, since one moment, stopped shuddring.  
The spiritual pressure in the mist was getting thicker and thicker. Bardeusz, like a drowning man, watched himself as the suffocating atmosphere poured into his body from all around, squeezing his spirit, leading it to the edge of collapse.  
He temporarily put the oars back into the boat, casted a peacifying spell on the duo before getting at ease, headed towards the hazy target in the mists.

With a discordant rattling and shaking, the boat ran aground on a shore of rocks. Bardeusz and his servant had to abandon the ship and wade forward. A light wind rolled up a corner of the mist curtain, revealing the grand mountain of darkness hundreds of yards at their front. Yet this wind, as if there's a hiding monster, repeatedly struck the head of Bardeusz with a imaginary chisel.  
By the time they reached the end of the rocky shore and came to the foothill, a black-haired fairy was sitting on a reef close by, looking somewhere behind the mountain, as if the priest never existed.  
"It's you who arranged all this?"  
"...Lumina's idea..." the fairy spoke with some language other than Asterla's. Bardeusz had to walk away in disappointment, ignoring the malice he would never understand.  
Among the jagged granite reefs there hid a wooden path, easy for Bardeusz to spot. Its waterside section, which used to be a trestle bridge big enough for boats to dock, has long crumbled and rotted in the freezing water.  
The remaining section, hanging in the air, seemed not tall, about the height of an elven door, but it's still without the reach of bardeusz alone. The slippy and sharp reefs were impossible to climb.  
When he moved his body to the bottom of the trestle bridge, he was still at a loss. His imagination wouldn't allow him to yield no solotion.  
"My lore, do you need me to carry you up?"  
"No... can you do it?"  
"But I can have a try."  
So Bardeusz and Zenon confirmed the solidity of the trestle and lifted the bag onto it first. Zenon picked his lord up from the waist, and both hands trembled as he bit down on the upper edge of the board, making a full effort, just being enough to brace his elbows on the surface.  
The moment his feet left the water, a destructive chaos swept through the fog. He gritted his teeth, with a fortitude he had never had before, while lifting his body - heavy but empty - over Zenon's shoulder onto the wooden trestle bridge. Neither is this process solemn, nor graceful, only with intense pain, pouring into every pore from head to toe.  
"Zenon, come up here - I'll help you."  
Bardeusz dragged Zenon's forearm while Zenon climbed along the edge, seeming to lift the young man up with no effort.  
"Master, is there any problems?" Zenon asked.  
"Did you just experience... a headache... or other abnormal pain?"  
"No, my lord."  
"Really?"  
"How can I lie in front of my lord?"

* * *

### Part V

The servant picked up his bag and followed his lord deeper into the mountains along the rattling wooden forest track.  
Through the mists, dark broadleaf forests began to emerge. In the cool atmosphere, merely a few trees remain evergreen, absorbing the few rays of light that leak from the sky.

_"Is’t the irlyyn… the wind which brought thee here,  
the man from the lyith… the outside world?"_

A soft female voice appeared as Bardeusz stepped down the steps into the forest where fallen leaves paved the trail. He looked around, ony to find nobody around.

_"Return to siren borhm… thy kingdom,  
keep off this ennyyja… my realm."_

"So you are the master of this realm? I ... am Bardeusz Gorecki, a priest from Asterla, a servant of the True God. You, the demon hostile to God, turned your back on the light and embraced the darkness. You spreaded curses on the earths; therefore I am commanded to purge you!"  
"My lord, who are you talking to?"  
"That demon. Can't you hear her?"  
"No, I cannot."  
The wind passing through the wooden trail sticks like thousands of needles, into Bardeusz's bones. His heavy coat, along wit his firm faith, could do nothing to defend. Branches and leaves swayed in the wind, rustling, covering the entire trail in a storm of chaos.

_"May I have the name of thy **GOD** ,  
‘servant of the divinity’?  
Who can be closer than me  
to the diviniy,  
amongst ye mortals?"_

The hillside began to rise, and Bardeusz began to gasp for breath, with his face stiff. He tried to speak for several times, only to find himself gulping.  
The fog condensed into dew on trunks, branches and the trail, reflecking the ethereal darkness around.  
After climbing hundreds of steps, the trail suddenly steepened, forcing Bardeusz to go up with both hands on his staff for support. Zenon also felt the strain, hardly following behind.  
"I ... God is the God of Light, and is the only God in the whole world... we shall not speak His name..."  
The expedted scoff did not arrive. What greeted him was only pain in the silence. Steadfast prayer can temporarily expel these aches and pains, but when prayer is over, they come back to life, at a form far mor violent.  
"You... you claimed to be close to divinity, so why would you... want the place to be, well, filled with mist and darkness, instead of the light of God? You can be nothing... but a demon."  
No replies. Branches at the top of his head formed a terrible shape. An untimely aroma permeated the moist air. As the height rose, Bardeusz noticed some violet orchids along the road.  
"I will ... defeat you, demon ..."  
With each step upwards, Bardeusz aches, painful enough to tear his heart. Such endurance lasted, to his feelings, at least a century.  
The forest trail is built along the exposed rock in the forests, climbing up the ridge, following the ridgeline to every peak alongside. New fallen leaves feom deciduous trees cover the long-deposited rotting leaves, piling up on the track and above earth, turning to dust, waiting for their rebirth.

_"Return whence thou cam’st,  
As comfort suits thou better than truth. "_

When first ascending the ridge, the voice of the realm master reached Bardeusz's ears once again. Finally, he was beaten by exhaustion, and sat down with Zenon on a small platform, having a little food, recovering his strengths and spirits.  
The mist, saturate down below, was quite thin here, and the closest summit is visible thousands of yards away. But the sky remained high, and the dense woods block the view to the water.  
The stinging pain disappeared without a trace, as Bardeusz focusing on the scenery and the foods instead of the matters of the divines.  
Once again, the priest's servant reported that he hadn't experienced any headache.

When Bardeusz Gorecki regained his spirits and headed for the summit, he once again prayed in silence. Unsurprisingly, the abominable pain wrapped him up in a tide like a raging wind.  
At a quarter of the trail to the top, it began to crumble, break, and even disappear, until being replaced by stone steps at one third of the height.  
The higher the ground, the lighter the fog became, and the woods were no longer dense enough to shield the trail from winds, which allowed the gale to rage over the ridge, with clouds getting thinner. Bardeusz had to admit that beauty here can't be found anywhere else he had been to.

_"Still thou persist, mortal?"_

"Of course! My sword is prepared for you!"

_"Then follow the path thou set out on,  
Pierce my chest, **like her** , with a blade so sharp… "_

Bardeusz lowered his head to look at the sword at his waist. It is a regular longsword. It has been stained with the blood of enemies, of heretics, and of hundreds of beasts. It has also been dusted, rusted, abandoned on the shelves, only to be refreshed a month ago, given it a new lease of life.  
As the priest and his servant climed step by step towards the summit, the terror around eased a little. Spiritual pressure was dissolved in the gale, slipped through the gaps of beeches and olives, shaked off a yellow leaf or two, and seeped into Bardeusz's pilgrim soul.

* * *

### Part VI

At about a hundreds yards from one peak, the stone path met a hut at the border of woods and rocks. The hut leaned against an exposed wall of rock and was built of pine wood. Outside the hut, one the other side of the trail, there is an altar of eagle with a shallow pond as its base, the water within is vaguely fragrant. It was getting late, and the dark sky was cleansed a bit.  
At the thought that there must be someone here, Bardeusz knocked on the door a few times with Zenon at guard.  
"Who's there?" A man's voice replied, "On days like this, I never expected someone human to visit."  
"A messenger from the Asterla Kingdom, ordered to ... er, be sent to talk to ... that one."  
A violent headache came at the priest.  
Bardeusz heard footsteps and sound of metal in the hut. It took quite some time before the owner opened the door. The thick-bearded I'ssucan wielded a one-man-tall Zweihander which nearly blocked the small door. Zenon hurriedly removed his hand from the hilt to show his innocence.  
"Put your weapons down, the ones from the kingdom."  
"Oh, you don't mean you're not welcoming us, are you?"  
"I think I should be in charge of my house." said the I'ssucan, "Put the weapons on the ground."  
With a sigh, Bardeusz unbuckled the sword belt, placed the longsword on the ground, then asked Zenon to drop the chopping sword and the shortbow as well.  
The I'ssucan also set his zweihander in both hands beside the door, making room for the priest to enter.

"I am Sigurdur of the clan Shallow Moon, born in the Highlands. You look like a clergyman or a soldier." Sigurdur brought two chairs, then lit a fire for the fireplace of the room, "Sit down, the one from the kingdom, tell me your story."  
The priest sat first, followed by the servant.  
"You are right. I am Bardeusz Gorecki, a priest on the border of the kingdom, and once I was a soldier." Bardeusz took over the mug containing water from the spring, "A month ago I took the task from the king to destroy the demon that had settled in northern Herlan, cleaning its curse."  
"You men from Asterla are always so arrogent, with nobody in sight, so few friends and so many enemies. Don't you know you're no longer in Herlan - in Eztta'lyith, the world on the grounds?"  
"It can't be ... Obviously I heard her voice ..."  
"That's right." Sigurdur fetched a Lutchen from the wall, "This is the Realm of the Gloom, an otherworld, with a history shorter than your kingdom, originally used to seal the power of 'Arch-Witch of the Gloom'. I wasn't surprised at all to hear that the kingdom called her a demon."  
"Why?"  
"Because I - used to be a travelling bard!"  
Sigurdur drew out some runes on the wooden table and chanted a few words of Lynn. Soon, these runes began to glow blue, with occasional arc dancing across.  
"This is ... a forbidden heretic spell ..."  
"Forbidden? I'm afraid among Eztta'lyith, you Asterla forbids the most of the magic. Tell me, whyis this harmless magic forbidden?"  
"Because it's heretic."  
"So what is heresy, in your view?"  
"Heresy ... is everything other than our official faith."  
"Ah, so all who do not believe in your God, the God of Light, are punished, are they?"  
"Indeed."  
"Even the belief in Vilta and Villean? They are deities."  
"Uh, yes."  
"They why?"  
"Because they are ... false gods in our kingdom."  
"Then how to explain the Divine Manifestation in the forest of Anar Vimia. Don't forget, it's just to the south of your kingdom, and important roads go through there. Don't tell me you have no knowledge about it."  
"In our kingdom, that could be false gods."  
"Stop that nonsense, boring imperials. Being in the center of the continent does not necessarily mean you are in the center of the world." Sigurdur wiped the runes off the table with his hand, "High walls were buklt around cities and the way leaving the kingdom. Outsiders were driven out, people live in limited areas - I, as a believer of Villean, don't see any wisdom in that."  
At that moment, Bardeusz's thoughts muddled. Whenever he told himself the "truth" and "revealation" of the "God of Light", the headache swept over him, and when he began to think over the system, the ghostly headache fled.  
Moonlight shone through the mist and into the house, adding a hint of blue to the Lutchen.  
"Oh, this young man, you came with him, but kept quiet all along. Who are you?"  
"Uh ... I am Zenon, his servant. I am just someone adventurous with little money, boarding in the chapel of Salaovi."  
"Zenon ... If I were you, I would feel lucky to visit this enyja(magic realm) isolated from the human world as an Imperial. And you, priest, if you feel sleepy, just stay here for a night and leave next morning."  
"Sigurdur, may I ask some questions?"  
"When I tried to enter this realm, the fairies laid a mist and said it is a 'key'. Why? The realm master was called 'the Gloom', where is she?"  
"Good question. As far as I know, there are several ways to enter this realm, but from the south there is only one entry: crossing the lake Fannir with dense mists above.  
"If you want to see El ... the Gloom, head north along the dirt road, about half a league along the ridge. Cross the bridge at a cliff, then ascend to the top of the island in air, where there is a shrine, which is built for her."

* * *

### Part VII

The day has finally come for the march to the shrine.  
After bidding farewell to Sigurdur, Bardeusz picked up their weapons and, against a headache, that he would be victorious, even though he himself was beginning to doubt his faith.  
"Calm down, Gorecki. It's a contract, you are just preforming a contract."  
Along the dirt road, Bardeusz overturned two shorter peaks, followed by a wooden trail strewn by fallen maple leaves. At due noon, he finally came to the edge of the cliff.  
Below the cliffs was a sea of churning clouds, even when the sun was shining, the clouds still hovered near the ground, and the whole mountain was like a floating island in the sea of clouds.  
In the front there is a bridge suspended under two black chains with no rust, while the wooden planks are slightly decayed. Clouds high above obscured the sight to the other end of the bridge. The sun behind the clouds cast a ray of lazy white light.

_"Where is thy courage, mortal?  
Follow the path at thy front,  
Follow the path in thy heart."_

Bardeusz took a deep breath and moved his left foot onto the suspension bridge.  
Then the right foot. The bridge trembled, but showed no sign of swaying in the breeze.  
"It seems safe. Zenon, come on."  
Half a minute later, the duo walking along the bridge headed into the changable clouds.

He saw sikly clouds sliding around.  
He saw them being driven by the gale,  
Knocking against the motionless bridge.  
He saw an uprising eagle with a hare in its mouth.  
He saw flocks of red-beaked tits  
Taking flight at the figure they'd never seen before.  
He saw a dead vine haning on the distancing chains.  
He saw the magical phosphorescence dancing around,  
Burning themselves indulgently in broad daylight.  
He saw lines of frozen dew, crystal-like and translucent.  
He saw nails in the planks, in  
Twisted lines, but with no one missing.  
He saw the floating island at the end of the bridge.  
He saw pines and cedars in dark green, with a brook finding its path,  
Leaping from a manificent altitude, turning into fogs and clouds.  
He saw the snow from days before, covering treetops in the days to come.

The island at the end of the chained-suspended bridge was buried in the sea of clouds, invisible, while Bardeusz would rather believe it is not a floating island. Stepping onto it was as stable as stepping onto any solid land. What greeted the bridge was neither a dirt road nor a wooden trail, but stone steps carved with runes and stripes, leading the winding path into forests of pines.  
Lumina, the yellow-haired fairy peeked out of the forest, quickly before she hid herself somewhere in the deep dark forest.  
"The Gloom ... You may be strong, powerful enough to create this miraculous otherworld. However, I will, at least, try to defeat you, as long as the Light is still my belief!"

_"O, what an encouraging oath!  
How noble could it be,  
If I were astonished, by  
An earthborn so humble."_

As Bardeusz stepped deeper into the forest, the atmosphere thickened minute by minute. Every 27 steps, a pair of small stone pillars - carved with totems - were put at the roadside. The air thinnened. Various Elemental spirits wandered through the forest at random. Every tiny piece on the island showed the affection and respect of its master to the elements, the myths, and the nature.  
For several times, Bardeusz was overtaken by this closeness to the wilds, and temporarily forgave himself for his disloyalty and his freedom-loving thought. His headache eased up since leaving the bridge, at the summit it disappeared.  
When the twisted stone path crossed a stream for the last time, the stairs became straight. As Bardeusz came here, it was eventide and the first quareter moon rose up to the middle. White snow on treetops reflected the burning scarlet from the skyline.  
Hundreds of stone steps led straight ahead to a grand rectangular square at the summit, where two rows of tall stone pillars wree set up, bound with chains in dark red.  
This is not a shrine. This is an altar.

* * *

### Part VIII

Most of the chains were either hung down naturally or were tied to the marble ground. Three of them stretched otherwise to the centre of the altar, tying with three three-man-tall "swords", with one-thirds of their front in the ground, which had made several fearsome cracks in the ground.  
In the center of the altar is a high platform, shaped in square, flanked by two shallow pools, in which the high pillars stand. As twilight failed to reach them, they sank into the darkness, while illuminated by magical phosphorescence dancing above the water - the freezing fire. In the centre of the platform there is a obsidian "sculpture" in the shape of two "Y"'s.  
The witch is sitting on her knees in front of the "sculpture", back to the road behind her.

"In a late autumn eventide ... could it be that thou know my past?"  
Bardeusz's iron-soled boots steped on the marble altar, making a sound each step.  
"O, forvige me for my impoliteness." The witch rose, "Haven't thou be informed of my name yet?"  
"Well ... indeed. You must be the 'Witch of Gloom'." Bardeusz drew his longsword, gestured for Zenon to ready his bow, then walked towards the witch thirty yards away. He stared at her back dress, her exposed fair skin on her back, and her white hair fallin to her waist. He tried to keep the seriousness on his face.  
"I have the name of El'mittia, the Enccita of Iz'rlita - one of the Seven Pillars. To some extent can'st thou be right: I am, indeed, a witch of the darkness and of the becursed. Kill me, if thou have to."  
As El'mittia lifted her dress, turned, and locked her eyes on Bardeusz, a tempest of spiritual pressure raged at the priest, draining his power on trying to stand and stare at the Gloom, while Zenon hid his head behind his master.  
She can be nothing but the creature of diviniy, the farmost reach of beauty that human can imagine. Kings and nobles would have to be in awe of that beauty, if she came to Alaan.  
But there is a tear of blood hanging at her turqoise eyes. There is a rough, crison chain wrapping around her delicate wrist. Between those snow-white breasts, there carved an abyssal scar.  
This must be a terrible beauty.  
**"Kill me, if thou can'st."**  
The teardrop of blood slid down her eyes, carrying an amaranth trail.  
Scent of orchids came from around.

The priest petrified.  
So strong is his desire to raise his sword, to rush forward, and to stab her in the chest, as strong as the wish to throw the blade on the ground, and go up with an embrace.  
Never did his body reply, even raising his staff is impossible for him now. Zenon shivered behind, with sounds of items clashing there.  
Never could he do it.  
Never did he deserve it.

Inch by inch, the sky darkened. The sappire starry skies wiped the last bit of daylight from the horizen, and the moonlight outlined the figure on the altar, dignified but tender, whose hair fluttered in the gentle breeze. The firs around shook to a rustle. The aroma rose from somewhere here.  
How untimely the scent is!

 _"Forgive me for my deceitful request,  
As it seems impossible for thee."_  
"Forgive me for being coward and timid.  
Under her pressure I can hardly breathe."  
_"O, is my aura here too oppresive?"  
She moved the sight on him away._  
"Have i lost my faith in complete?  
My Light, from me you're so far away."  
_"Who is it that were talking to thee,  
My mortal foe, the warrior so faithful?"_  
"My God, my Light, where can you be?  
Am my failure dirty and disgraceful?"  
_"Calm down! I shall stop thy frenzy."  
The Enccita casted a tranquil spell._  
"Oh, for what reason did you help me?"  
He asked after revitalizing himself.  
_"Time has come to make thy choice,  
Shall thee fight, return, or flee?"_  
The reply was made without any voice:  
He had his staff thrown, sword ready.

"Demon or not, I will try with my own strength. I, Bardeusz Gorecki, as more a human than a priest, will challenge you!"  
"Accepted."  
El'mittia stepped back. After short invocation, a great scythe appeared in her hand.

* * *

### Part IX

Underneath cleansing starlight, the Enccita and the mortal warrior would cross fate. With her aura of spiritual pressure off, the elegant figure of El'mittia was clear enough both to stare and to aim.  
With the sound of boots on the marble ground, Bardeusz rushed towards El'mittia, making his first slash. Blades crossed, and she made a perfect defense.  
Under great strain, Bardeusz took a small step back, followed by a slugish step, trying to stab at the Enccita.  
"For too long haven't both of us been in a fight, isn't it?"  
It wasn't until being dragged in the arm that Bardeusz found the blade of the scythe across his throat. Without waiting El'mittia's any move, he tried a life for a life.  
In desperation, he saw his sword picked off by her, flying beyond the altar.  
"No!"  
"What-"  
Before El'mittia could make a move, an arrow came from behind and pierced her throat. She gave a gesture to let the duo escape before falling onto the ground.  
"Run away ... "  
"Zenon, you..."  
"Forgive me, _Saarin_... "

But when Bardeusz realized the anomaly, it was too late. The arrow disappeared, her body started to recover rapidly. Black mist started to rise around, in which a pair of huge black wings appeared on her back. When she stood up with the support of the scythe, Bardeusz started to recognize the disappear of the scar in her chest. Her dress almost shattered, and her eyes were covered with furious crimson.  
Conjured swords appeared ramdomly above the altar, and the spiritual pressure pinned Bardeusz and Zenon onto the ground.  
"This must be... The curse of madness on her... We have unsealed something."  
Soon, El'mittia spotted the duo on the marble ground. Twelve conjured swords raised into the air, forming into a circle around them in the air, pointing at the targets. After struggling for long, she removed those conjured swords, then flew to the front of Bardeusz with the scythe in her hand.  
"Run away, as I still possess last of my calmness - as the curse has not yet conqured the entire of me - as I have not yet gained the whole of my power."

That could be impossible for a man under such a high spiritual pressure. It was even impossible for Bardeusz to move a finger, how can he flee under such terror?  
On the way back to the shrine centre, great pain struct El'mittia in a sudden. Fifty yards from the "sculpture", she fell onto the ground, struggled to stand upright.  
" **Eirin-Saarin**... _Ciiläco sir miren lyylän*_... (Can'st you hear me calling?)"  
With a last piece of clarity of mind, she sent a signal through the "sculpture" before being consumed by the madness from within - that madness which lifted her onto the skies.  
Black wings covered the moonlight. Violet conjured swords danced with the freezing fire of mystery, whose every slash rang a death toll when crossing the air near Bardeusz. He kept his body low, so do Zenon, trying to keep themselves away from the hazardous air.  
But that is far from enough. There was nothing he could do to stop the black feathers randomly coming at them:  
A transluctant shield, **luminiscent** , was held up in the air, defending every deadly weapon.  
"Ens thorivi las*." (She will come for sure)  
The yellow-haired fairy came from behind.  
"I cläifyr, i enccita valkyryen*..." (The swordsmaiden, the valkyrie of eventide)  
The fairy, Lumina, held up the shield, with the maxium of her strength. Every word seemed an unnecessary extra exhaustion.  
"Eirin-Saarin!"  
Blades and feathers swept the grounds, making every inch out of the shield hard to make a stand. Magic of the pillars made some effort in limiting her strength, but for Bardeusz, there seemed no difference.

These minutes were as long as decades before the air stirred.  
Crimson chains appeared out of the void, as a ray of dim light cast on the dark wings of the cursed El'mittia. After rage and fights, eventually she was seen caught up in those chains - she struggled, but only to find herself chained more tightly. In the dim light, a winged swordsmaiden appeared in exquisite armor with swords in both hands.  
"It's been so long, my lady."  
The onyx-winged figure came at the vermilion-winged one, trying to wield the scythe, with magnificent power of magic. However, after crossing blades for a few times, the valkyrie won at ease.  
With a single slash, Saarin crushed the weapons conjured by El'mittia.

Deep under the cursed frenzy, Saarin caught the ray of affection and shyness from the eyes of El'mittia.  
The valkyrie then tightened the chains, raised the giant swords on the ground, tied the raging enccita to them, then stuck them back into the ground, in which process El'mittia was forced to the ground, stricken by the spiritual pressure, thus losing her strength. The once invincible battlemaiden could do nothing but useless struggles when being dragged up to the altar.  
Once El'mittia was bound to the structure in the centre, her curse, along with her strength, was introduced into the earth. Her onyx wings dissipated, scattered into the air, and her eyes recovered into a perfect turquise. As soon as she found herself naked, she blushed bashfully.  
"Thankfully those pillars here still work, otherwise I would have to fight the real demon. Tell me, my maiden, what happened to thee?"  
As soon as Saarin loosened part of the chains, El'mittia conjured a cloak with a red on her cheek. Saarin deconjured her swords, put away her helmet, gave El'mittia an embrace, followed by a kiss.  
"Thy arms. They are too tight for me to breathe." El'mittia only received a tighter hug, "It was an arrow in my neck. Shall I be tougher when facing those... mortals?"  
It wasn't until this time that Eirin-Saarin noticed the priest and the servant at the south of the altar.

* * *

### Outro

"Would you mind to have your shield off, Lumina the 'ice-clever'?"  
Eirin-Saarin stared at the duo who happened to escape, dignified, majestic and unchallenged. Even the greatest human warrior would pay full respect to her.  
"I've warned thy royals for time and time again. Why do thee still persist in disturbing the peacefulness of this realm?"  
"At the King's command, ma'am."  
"These are warnings for thee: Even if I am the valkyrie of twilight and eventide, still do I stand for Iz'rlita, the deity of darkness."  
"You are on her side?"  
"On her side? She is mine." Saarin said with a bit of greed, "Leave this place, do not get stirred in our business again."  
Bardeusz, along with Zenon, took a trail at the north of the shrine and found their way out of the otherworld to somewhere other than Asterla. Since then, nobody in the world of humans could recognize where this priest has been to. Rumors spread that they were killed by the "demon", some others claimed to have spotted them in the Highlands.

What about Saarin? She stayed for a year with El'mittia - her lover since centuries ago - and had a sweet time here. Then she unchained El'mittia and left for the businesses in the outside world.  
For long, the truth of the realm would be covered with myths in the human world, as El'mittia could not leave the realm... at least, for the time being.


End file.
